


Sleep Easy

by elder-flower (elder_flower)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 30+ fanfic, Gen, Geralt blaming himself, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, and I'll tell you for why:, but who is hurt and who is comfort?, it turns into fluff, it's because I wrote it, jaskier in a nightshirt, potentially disturbing description of an injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/pseuds/elder-flower
Summary: Jaskier doesn't blame Geralt in the slightest for his injury, and besides, he's healing really well; neither of these things will stop Geralt from blaming himself, though. Obviously.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 143
Collections: 30PlusFanfic Prompt Channel Fics





	Sleep Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragon_rider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/gifts).



> For the prompt: "I trusted you." To dragon_rider, who came up with the prompt 🐉💙

“I thought you would keep me safe!” Jaskier tells him, his voice strong and steady despite his anger, despite the blood and the bruises and, fuck, the horrendously broken arm he’s cradling, the snapped bone visible where it’s torn through his skin and his clothes. He must be in so much pain. “I _knew_ you would keep me safe, but I was wrong about you! I _trusted_ you, and you failed me!”

_I’m so sorry._

Geralt can imagine his own voice saying the words, he wants to say them, but they won’t come out – nothing will come out, not a single word or even a sound. He tries and tries to apologise, but he can’t, and he’s known all along that he’ll never be able to, he’ll never be able to say he’s sorry for what he’s done, what he’s allowed to happen-

“Gods damn it, fucking- bastard- all the- ow!”

Geralt wakes abruptly to Jaskier’s voice – the _real_ Jaskier’s voice – as he apparently trips over something, probably his own bag or boots or something else he left in the middle of the floor, and falls. It’s dark in their shared room, not yet dawn, but Geralt can clearly see him pushing himself to his knees with one hand, the other arm held protectively away from the floorboards.

“Sorry Geralt,” he says – he must have heard Geralt shifting in the bed. “I didn’t want to wake you, should have just stayed in bed… ugh…”

Geralt sits up and makes a quick sign, and the candle on the small table in the corner flares to life instantly, illuminating Jaskier as he gets to his feet.

“What’s going on?” Geralt asks once he’s glanced quickly around the room, instinctively checking for anything dangerous that might have caused Jaskier to get up this early and finding nothing.

“Oh, nothing!” Jaskier assures him. “Get some more rest, if you can. I just couldn’t sleep, you see, and then I had this great idea for a new song – a poem, really, at this point, since it’s all words and no tune – and I knew I was too tired to remember it if I didn’t write it down and I- Ah, bollocks. Now I’ve forgotten most of it anyway, let me just…” He hastens over to the table where a messy sheaf of paper and a quill lie next to the pewter candlestick and quickly scribbles something. “Well, that’ll have to do, at least I’ve got one good line, well, potentially good line, out of this. Sorry I woke you up – very ingrained instinct in us humans to swear loudly when we fall over, I’m afraid…”

He looks embarrassed and apologetic, and strangely endearing in his long nightshirt and woolen socks, with tired eyes and messy hair and one arm still bandaged.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says. “I’m sorry.”

Now Jaskier looks confused (and still very endearing).

“Um… Apology accepted? But for what- Oh, Geralt! You’re not talking about this are you?” he asks, waving the elbow of his injured and still mostly immobile arm. “Again? You really mustn’t worry about it anymore.” Careful of the things scattered around the floor this time, he crosses the room. He’s looking at Geralt with gentle concern, which is the exact opposite of what should be happening. He sits down on the bed with his legs curled up under him and rests his good hand on Geralt’s blanket covered thigh. In other circumstances, it would be… pleasant. “You’ve apologised hundreds of times already, and it was never your fault to begin with! How many times have you told me that I should stay further back, or not come on hunts at all? I could have listened to you, but as we all know, I can be a bit of a fucking idiot.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “What happened was my own fault. And anyway, I’m well on the way to being healed up anyway, thanks to your lovely friend’s concoctions! There’s no reason for you to even think about it anymore, and I really wish you wouldn’t.” He sighs. “Can’t you use some of that extreme witcher mental discipline and just, I don’t know, put it out of your mind?”

“Hmm. Doesn’t really work like that,” Geralt tells him, although it does, pretty much, work like that. A witcher needs to be able to put all unnecessary thoughts out of his mind and focus on one thing alone – that thing intended to be the current hunt or the fight he’s in.

He doesn’t want to tell Jaskier that the skill he’s used throughout his life, and not just for his work, is failing him this time; that he can’t stop thinking about it, even when he’s asleep, dreaming about it being much worse than it was, about being physically unable to say he’s sorry, about Jaskier not forgiving him, _hating_ him.

“I couldn’t protect you,” he says instead of any of that, “and I’m sorry.” He knows Jaskier doesn’t want him to say it but he has to, and he can.

“You did protect me, darling!” Jaskier has never called him that before. It’s a nice surprise that he can’t enjoy in his current mood. “I didn’t die, and that was through no effort or quick thinking of my own!” He takes Geralt’s hand in his and squeezes it gently, an affectionate and reassuring gesture that Geralt struggles to feel he remotely deserves. “I know I can’t make you stop fretting about it, however much I might want to, and I’ll say you’re forgiven, if it helps, as many times as you want to apologise, but I want you to remember when I say it that I don’t _really_ mean you’re forgiven, because I don’t think there’s anything you need to be forgiven _for_. Alright?”

“Mm.” Geralt makes an indistinct noise of agreement and nods, and takes in the way Jaskier looks right now, messy and sleepy and caring, looking at him warmly. He decides he’ll try to hold this image of him in his mind, along with the many others he has that he’s secretly so fond of. Maybe it’ll banish the battered, vengeful vision of Jaskier he keeps dreaming about.

“Okay!” Jaskier says, giving him a tired smile before he lets go of his hand and shifts around until he can put his head on the pillow and pull the blankets over himself. Geralt lies back down too, and by the time he’s snuffed out the candle with a twist of his hand, Jaskier appears to already be asleep. Geralt’s had all the sleep he needs and more, but he closes his eyes anyway and rests a bit easier til dawn.


End file.
